Sierraleonés artist Julianknxx exposes his audiovisual work in the house of Madrid Chorus in Rememory of Flight.
“The choir is a means of resistance that is deeply rooted in the experiences of the black diaspora,” says Julianknxx. Understand the song, music and choir as forms of resistance. Talk about feeling here and from there, from Europe and Africa, or either of the two places, depending on the moment and the perception of others or that of oneself. Meet other people in the diaspora and listen. It is what the Sierraleon artist based in the United Kingdom did for a year, touring nine European cities with a colonial past marking: Hamburg, Berlin, Amsterdam, Rotterdam, Antwerp, London, Marseille, Barcelona and Lisbon.
There he met with artists and musicians from the black communities and asked them to express themselves. The result of this listening and shared creation trip, where water and music share prominence, is Chorus in Rememory of Flighta collective cinematographic portrait about the identity, memory and belonging that can be seen until November 30 at the house on (Madrid). Julianknxx combines poetry, cinema and installation to create deeply emotional and political works that offer a backward to colonial stories. His work has gone through various artistic centers such as Barbican and Tate Modern in London, the Gagosian Gallery in Paris, the Gulbenkian Foundation of Lisbon or the Sharjah (EAU) Biennale. News Now Nigeria has talked with him about this exhibition, which arrives for the first time to Spain and has been co -produced by Barbican and Wepresent.
How was the idea of doing a work as Chorus in Rememory of Flight?
Chorus in Rememory of Flight It has its origin in a residence that I made in Berlin and then in Amsterdam in 2021, which culminated with a performance commissioned by Wepresent in Stedelijk Museum. I created a film from the time I spent listening there and interviewing people in the city about what it means to be black living in the Netherlands and later the barbican commissioned me to continue the work. The conductive thread or conceptual thought arose thinking about how to choose the cities that it would visit, and the water became the key, as a way of mapping the multiple ways in which we have arrived in Europe.
How did you choose the people who participate in the movie? What were you looking for in these meetings?
I simply toured Europe and asked the people of the diaspora to tell me the history of its offering cities. That offering could be a dance, a poem, a song or simply drink tea and chat. The creative process was based largely on the practice of active listening and trust, on set aside and creating a space that allowed free expression. Whatever the offering, I accepted it. I didn’t know what the result would be like, and my collaborators either.
Could you tell us about the title: Chorus in Rememory of Flight? What does the concept of “recalls” mean for you?
The title winks to the subtitle of Lorna McDaniel’s book The Big Drum Ritual of Carriacou: Praisesongs in Rememorry of Flight. It is part of my study model on the diaspora. In a broader sense, I also rely on Toni Morrison’s thought about “recall.” She brilliantly analyzes the distinction between history and memory, and between memory and absence of memory. His idea underlines the importance of remembering and recomposing the fragments of our past, whether personal or collective.
In your work the testimonies about identity, diaspora and memory are intertwined with music, with the songs and beautiful planes that you have filmed of buildings, streets, sky, of the people who have participated … you use a very poetic tone. When did you decide that poetry would be your language to express emotions and tell stories?
My artistic career dates back to the time I lived in Sierra Leone, where the stories and the art of telling are at the center of everything, from ceremonial acts to religious and family events. These stories are full of life, depth and emotion. They became an integral part of what I am. Moving to England, going through Gambia, also meant a significant change in my life. Adapting to a new environment raised its difficulties, and it was during those first years that I turned to poetry as a means to articulate my experiences and navigate the complexities of not belonging at all, the difficulties of fitting.
During the creative process of this movie, what surprised you in the meetings you had?
If you listen to people wherever you go, if you hear local stories, you will see that their stories have many layers, which are revealed in the way we talk about ourselves and the stories and songs that we carry with us. In Barcelona, one of the interviewees told me about how the Sharks of the Atlantic changed their routes during the slave trade, towards more bloody ones. That story captures how the ocean keeps the memory of trauma for black African communities and becomes a space of deep contradiction, which houses both the beauty of infinite possibility and the weight of historical pain. Another artist from Lisbon asked me to record her as she slept, because she was tired of speaking. We went to his floor and sat down. He had his robe, spoke for a few minutes and then went to bed.
The water is very present in the film. What symbolize for you?
Water, especially the ocean, is a metaphor of history in my work. It represents the deep currents of time and the interconnection of our collective past, while embodying the physical and emotional landscapes of the Krio de Freetown and Sierra Leone people, where I am from. It is a recurring theme that I also explode in my series After The Oceanwhich speaks of how we think of the ocean as a way of navigating, as a source of connectivity, and how we support ourselves through the world. Water gives us a license to go to other places, it is a path to other lands. But today, those who hold power are used as a weapon of separation. Water is essential for life, it contains the idea of being transported, of movement, of memory, and makes winks to the mythology of Mami Wata, Drexciya and the “African Flyers.” It is history and myth at the same time.
What do you feel when you see your own movie?
For me it is a memory container. It reminds me that the work is not finished and has done nothing but start. But at the same time, the work brings together people and arouses conversations, so I’m glad he is fulfilling his function. I am looking forward to seeing how more cities receive it.
How is it being received by the Afro -descendant communities of the diaspora and by the non -Afro -descendant public?
Positively, from time to time I receive emails and messages on the work, and on how other ways and dialogues are opening. That is all we can expect as artists, right? My approach has been to treat the space where the work can be seen as a way of significant meetings and a performance place rather than a traditional gallery. The emphasis is to create a space that visitors come to witness and participate.
What similarities and differences have you perceived among the Afro -descendant communities that you have known?
I believe that the different forms of expression are a powerful affirmation of identity and a way of interacting authentically with the world. Learning from the multiple ways in which we have arrived, and we continue to arrive, to Europe has been amazing. The history of movement is very deep, it is pre -colonial. We have always moved. And seeing how that movement is different in different cities opens a lot to understanding. Patience is also key, is being willing to meet people wherever they are. Learning to make people feel safe to express themselves and learn to give space to others has been a common issue throughout all work.
One of the cities that appear in the work is Barcelona. What impression did the Afro -Drill community and the community initiatives that promote?
It was one of the cities where I felt that the conversation was more limited, although the black communities are doing their job. I didn’t feel there was much support. But the scene and spaces are vibrant. I was also surprised to see how Columbus is extolled in culture as a hero. That speaks a lot about what the city feels for black people.
Works such as yours invite us to look at the past, our ancestors, to the wounds of colonialism, but also to collective power, exemplified in the choral song. Are you looking for more to cause historical reflection or activate a form of healing and celebration in the Afro -descendant communities of the diaspora?
Both things. Music is a powerful technology: the state of the body changes, invokes memory, connection and lets the imagination fly. From the beginning of the times we have used the songs to connect with each other, tell stories, meditate or worship. To move the spirit. The choir is a means of resistance that is deeply rooted in the experiences of the black diaspora. In the words of Tina Campt, it is “tuning in the frequencies of black life.” I think, somehow, we share a common choir throughout the diaspora. The truly extraordinary is how shared musical language can become a way to unite. I always say it: if we sing the same songs – or tune in with the other – a solid base for collaboration is created. It is also a form of radical therapy, a powerful means of healing that occurs when we join our voices and our spirits.
Do you think your work rewrites, in some way, the dominant historical narrative about European colonialism?
I hope yes, at least that is ambition. With all my work, I intend to expand the perspectives on the history and culture of Africa and its diasporas, with oral history in the center. So much Chorus in Rememory of Flight As my work in general try to analyze how stories are told, especially those that have been molded by dominant cultures. Based not only on my own personal experiences, but also creating a space for others to share their own, I hope to offer the colonial stories count. In this way, I hope to contribute to rewrite, or at least to expand, the way in which these stories are understood: how one feels in liminal spaces.
